Clocks had struck eleven at night
and still a lamp was shining bright, 
and a lamp in the room burned still,
hanging up above a prayer stool.

On a wall in that poor abode
hung an image, Mother of God,
God’s Mother with her little child,
just like a rose with a fresh bud.

Before that holy of holies
a maiden is seen, on her knees;
on her knees, her head in prayer bowed,
her arms across her breast folded;
tears from her eyes she kept shedding,
in anguish her breast kept heaving.
And each little tear she expressed
would fall down into that fair breast.

“Where is my daddy now, alas?
Over him is growing green grass!
Alas, where now is my mummy?
There she lies—next to my daddy!
My sister lived less than a year,
a bullet killed my brother dear.

I am sad, I once had a love,
to save him my life I would give!
He left me for a foreign land,
from there he has not yet returned.

He left me for a foreign land;
wiping away my tears, he bade:
‘Sow flax seed, my dear, sow away,
keep thinking of me every day,
spin the flax all through the first year,
bleach linen in the second year,
embroider shirts in the third year;
when the shirts are finished, then you
will weave a fine garland of rue.’

The shirts I have now duly made,
and in my trunk carefully laid,
but my rue is losing its bloom,
my love is still gone, on the roam;
he’s roaming in the wide wide world,
like a stone on the deep sea bed.
Three years of him there is no word,
if he’s alive knows but dear God!

Mary, almighty holy maid,
wilt thou kindly come to my aid,
bring back my love who’s gone away;
he is my one and only joy,
my love bring back who’s gone away
or else cut short my life today;
with him life is bright, I’m so glad,
without him though, my world is sad.
Mary, o merciful mother,
in my grief, o be my saviour!”

The image on the wall then moved—
the maiden cried out, terrified;
the lamp that till then burned quite faint
spluttered and finally died out.
Perhaps it was a gust of wind,
or did it something bad portend?

But hark!—on the porch a footstep,
on the window pane: tap, tap, tap!
“Sleeping, my darling, or awake?
Hey, my darling, now I am back!
What are you doing, my lover?
Do you still know me, I wonder,
or does your heart love another?”

“Oh, good heavens, my dear one true!
Just now I am thinking of you;
Of you I was always thinking,
for you just now I was praying.”

“Hey, stop praying—jump to it, come,
jump to it, with me a twosome;
the moon lights our path here outside:
I’ve arrived to collect my bride.”

“Oh good heavens! What did you say?
It’s so late, where would we go, pray?
The night is dark, the wind is strong,
wait till it’s light—that’s not so long.”

“Hey, day is night and night is day—
my eyes are sleepy in the day!
Before the cockerels are awake,
as quite my own you I must take.
Just don’t delay, jump to it, come,
this day yet, my spouse you’ll become.”

It was night time, the dead of night, 
the moon high above shining bright, 
the village silent, abandoned, 
soundless but for the howling wind.

He bounded on, leap after leap,
she followed him with every step.
In the village, packs of dogs howled
when they got wind of them that fled;
they howled, they howled, gave a strange cry
that told there was a corpse nearby!

“A fine night, clear night—at this hour
rising from graves, the dead appear,
before you know it, they come near—
my darling, are you not in fear?”

“What should I fear? You are with me,
and God is watching over me.—
My dear, tell me, go on, please tell,
is your father alive and well?
Your father and your mother dear,
will she be pleased to know I’m here?”

“My darling, you do ask a lot!
Just hurry on—you’ll soon find out.
Just hurry on—time waits for none
and we have very far to run.
What’s that, my dear, in your right hand?”

“I hold my prayer books in my hand.”

“Throw them away, for all those prayers
weigh heavier than heaps of stones!
Throw them away, run light and free,
if you want to keep up with me.”

He seized her books, threw them away,
and ten miles they leapt straightaway—

Over mountains their flight then led,
over high cliffs and forests wild;
from the rocky dales and gullies
came the barking of wild bitches;
a tawny owl announced the lore
that disaster was very near.

Leap after leap he surged ahead,
she followed him, with every tread.
On briars and on rocks she met
she kept treading with dainty feet;
on flintstone and thorns in the wood
she left behind traces of blood.

“It’s a fine clear night—at this hour
the dead with the living confer;
before you know it, they come near—
my darling, are you not in fear?”

“What should I fear? You are with me,
God’s hand is taking care of me.—
Tell me, my love, say now, just tell,
what is your home like, where you dwell?
A pretty parlour? Nice and gay?
To the church is it a short way?”

“My darling, you do ask a lot!
This very day you will find out.
Just hurry on—time waits for none
And we’ve still very far to run—
What’s that, my dear, behind your belt?”

“My rosary that I have brought.”

“That rosary of bladdernut
embraces you like a serpent!
Squeezes you, takes your breath away;
we must make haste—throw it away!”

He seized the beads, threw them away;
twenty miles they leapt straightaway—

Across lowland their flight then led,
through lakes, meadows and swamps they sped.
In the swamps, in the caverns too,
tiny blue lights are luring you
in double file, nine in a row
as if with the deceased they go;
the frogs, in the stream all along,
croak meanwhile a funeral song.

He’s bounding on, leap after leap;
too weak to follow is her step.
Like razors, blades of sedge grass cut
into the poor girl’s tender feet;
and the green fern has now turned red,
it’s all discoloured by her blood.

“It’s a fine clear night—at this time,
quick in their graves the living climb;
before you know it, they are near—
my darling, are you not in fear?”

“What should I fear? You are with me,
God’s will is taking care of me.—
Just stay a little your great haste,
just allow me some little rest.
My legs give way, my spirit’s faint
and knives are stabbing at my heart.”

“Do hurry, come on, darling girl,
for we’ll be there in just a while.
Our guests await the feast, you know;
time flies like arrows from a bow.—
What’s that on your necklace, my dear,
on that necklace I see you wear?”

“It’s a cross that my mother wore.”

“Ho ho, that gold, let it be damned,
Its edges are sharp, all pointed.
It’s hurting you, me just as bad,
throw it away, fly like a bird!”

He seized the cross, threw it away;
thirty miles they leapt straightaway—

Here among far reaching flat lands,
lo, a very high building stands;
its windows are narrow and tall,
the roof-top tower has a bell.

“Hey, now we are here, darling girl!
Darling, see you nothing at all?”

“Oh heavens—that church, I suppose?”

“That’s no church—it’s my castle’s hall!”

“That graveyard—the rows of crosses?”

“Not crosses—that’s my garden, see!
Hey, darling, take a look at me,
jump over this wall joyfully!”

“Oh leave me alone, leave me be!
You look so strange—dreadful to see;
your bad breath smells so poisonous,
your heart’s a frozen block of ice!”

“Fear not, my darling, nothing fear!
Joy and plenty are with me here:
There’s lots of meat, but without blood,
things change today, all will be good!
What’s that in your bundle, my lass?”

“The shirts that I have sewn, the shirts.”

“No need for them, no more than two:
just one for me and one for you.”

With a laugh he tossed all the shirts
onto a grave over the fence.
“Look at me, fear nothing at all,
follow the shirts, just jump this wall.”

“You always kept forging ahead,
I followed all this way in dread;
All the time you’ve been to the fore;
jump to it, show the way once more!”

Over the fence he swiftly leapt;
he never thought he might be duped.
He leapt five fathoms in the air—
but he could not see her out there;
only the white dress she had on
flashed brightly by as she did run;
quite nearby she reached a shelter—
her dread host could not prevent her.

Here it is, there’s a small shed here,
a bolt to shut the low-down door;
behind the girl the door creaked shut,
protecting her—that heavy bolt.
No windows had the humble shed,
the moon shone pale through slats of wood;
safe as a cage it was, that shed,
within, on a plank, a man—dead.

Oh, such a din arose outside;
monsters from the graves, a great horde,
clattered around, a noisy throng,
and they moaned the words of this song:

“A body belongs in its grave;
woe to them who souls do not save.”

And now at the door: boom, boom, boom,
banging outside. Demands her groom:
“Arise, dead man, come on, stand up,
push for me that bolt, open up!”

Then the dead man opens his eyes,
then the dead man, rubbing his eyes,
begins to stir, raises his head
and then he looks half way around.

“Almighty God, o please help me;
let not the dread Devil take me!—
You are dead, lie, do not arise,
may God grant you eternal peace!”

Then the dead man rested his head;
and as before, his eyes were closed.

And now once again—boom, boom, boom
still louder bangs away the groom:
“Arise, dead man, up from the floor,
and open up for me my door!”

Hearing that voice and all that din,
off the plank rises the dead man;
with a stiff arm he’s reaching out
towards the door to slide the bolt.

“Save my soul, Jesus Christ, my Lord,
have mercy in my greatest need!—
Dead man, do not arise, stay there,
God bless us both, o hear my prayer!”

The dead man lay back on the floor,
stretched out his stiff limbs as before.

Again came boom, boom, boom outside!
The girl is driven deaf and blind!
“Arise, o ho ho, o dead man,
and bring me here that living one!”

O the poor girl, oh woe oh woe!
A third time the corpse starts to go.
His big dim eyes roll in his head,
he turns to her—she feels half dead.

“Blessed Mary, please by me stand,
for me with your son intercede!
I begged what I should not have done,
O forgive me, forgive my sin!
Mary, mother of forgiveness,
from evil powers me release.”

At once in the village, we hear,
a cockerel crowing here quite near;
everywhere around, thereupon,
the cockerels crow in unison.

At that the dead man who there stood
fell down, collapsed upon the ground;
outside was quiet, nothing stirred:
no mob was there, nor groom so dread.—

Folk to morning mass on their way
in amazement all stop and stay;
one grave is empty, open wide,
a girl in the lych house does bide;
upon each and every grave mound
a shred of a new shirt is found.

*

O maiden, you were wise indeed
to turn your thoughts unto your God,
of the dread groom to be thus rid.
If otherwise you had acted,
very badly you’d have ended;
your lovely fair body, of course,
would have ended just like those shirts!